Stolen Dance
by Pandorama
Summary: Something changes between them the night of JJ's wedding. (Post-Hit/Run AU, Oneshot)


_A/N - Written for a tumblr prompt that went kind of off-track and turned into a weird palindromic compound drabble set. Title refers to the song by Milky Chance, to which this was written._

* * *

 **Stolen Dance**

Something changes between them the night of JJ's wedding.

They both know, in retrospect, that it had to: they're alike in all the ways that no one else would understand, scarred and jagged in places that they don't let anyone see, but they sense it in one another. They understand each other better than maybe they should for how little they share aloud, and so, when he takes her hand and she steps into his hold, the invisible barrier that's kept them from being anything more begins to crack.

It takes all of three minutes to shatter at their feet.

* * *

He's nervous when he meets her the next morning for breakfast, not just because he has a feeling he knows what she's going to say, or because she offhandedly called it a date, but because he's spent the night lying beside Beth and thinking about what he's supposed to do now that this _thing_ has bubbled to the surface.

When she tells him she thinks she needs to leave, that the whole foundation of her life seems like it's split apart and that she can't fix it this way, he makes a split-second decision and his hand shoots out to grasp hers. "I need you to make me a promise."

"Okay." She looks at him, and he knows she means it. Whatever this is, it's enough that she'll give him this one thing.

"Take some time. Get away from here, and don't make any decisions until you come back and talk to me about it." He watches her lips part, her eyes widen at his request, and he hastily adds, "Or JJ, or Dave, but talk to somebody. You don't have to fix whatever's wrong by yourself."

She nods a little, and then turns her palm face up. Holding on.

* * *

She calls from Rome to say she's coming back, and he offers to meet her at the airport. It's been three weeks, and she's sent postcards from London and Paris, and he suspects she's visiting ghosts of herself, who she was and who she might be.

When she lands and asks how he is, he doesn't tell her he's single now, because it's too much at once. Even if whatever's unfolding won't end with _them_ , she doesn't need to hear about his problems. It'll give her an out, or worse, she'll know why and convince herself it'll be better for him if she leaves.

In the last three weeks, he's realized just how badly he wants her to stay.

He asks if she wants to talk, and she gives him a dark little laugh and says no, but she's pretty sure she needs to, and she'd rather do it now before she has time to rethink things.

"No one said you had to make any decisions today," he reminds her.

"I didn't. I made them a while ago. I just don't trust myself not to second-guess myself now that I'm home."

When she says the word "home," his chest aches.

* * *

"I'm leaving the BAU," she says softly, a glass of wine gripped in her hand. "I love it there. But I feel like I don't belong anymore."

"Emily - "

"Let me finish. I know the team is…maybe not past what happened, but I know I have their trust. I thought that was what I needed to feel right again. But I don't. What I liked before…everything…was that things were clear-cut. And they don't feel that way anymore.

"I think there's always been part of me that trusted in the rules to tell me what was right, even when my gut wasn't sure. And now…even though I know in my head that we're doing the right thing, all I can see is the gray areas."

He wants to tell her that it's her ability to see those things that makes her vital to the team. To him. She's always been the team's conscience, the one who looked beyond the answers to the questions that remained. But he knows it's not fair to put that responsibility on her shoulders when the weight is crushing her.

"I'm going to look for another job…here." She gives a shaky little sigh. "I think maybe I was looking for an out. If I took a better job, I didn't have to admit there was something wrong in the first place."

"Morgan told me what you said about the foundation in your house."

"Yeah, I wasn't so covert with that metaphor."

"You don't have to hide the cracks. You build on what's there and make it stronger."

She bites her lip, shifting to face him. "How long were you working on that one?"

"That obvious?"

"Let's just say it's a nice speech and I needed to hear it, but you should not go into real estate."

* * *

She comes back to the BAU for one last case, and Hotch knows he's not the only one secretly hoping it takes awhile so that they can keep her. The downfall of that plan is that Emily's good at what she does, and having her there only serves to expedite things. They all look crestfallen when she's the one to figure out the final piece of the puzzle, but it starts her laughing, and they can't keep from joining in.

They throw her a party in the bullpen and she announces she's found a job, two floors up. Hotch is beyond proud, because he may have had a hand in making sure her name was on the list of candidates, but it was all her from there. All bias aside, she's extraordinarily qualified.

When she walks into her new office the following Monday, there's something there from each of them: a vase of garish light-up flowers from Garcia's lair, Morgan's almost-new ergonomic desk chair, a choice bottle of Scotch from Rossi's stash, Reid's prized Dalek pencil cup, a framed photo of the team from JJ's desk. Over everything hangs Hotch's contribution: the FBI seal that once hung in his office.

* * *

He gives her time to settle, to acclimate to her new job, to the way she fits with them all now that she's no longer on the team. He makes a point of checking in with her until he can't pass it off as support without making it seem like he's anything less than confident in her abilities, and he fumbles a little at it, but he eventually finds a way to treat her like a friend, even if he's known he wants more from the moment they danced together.

It's four months from that night that he shows up in her office doorway, looking as awkward and boyish as Reid.

"I need to ask you something, and if it makes you uncomfortable, we can forget it happened."

She nods and looks up at him, and he sees expectations in her eyes.

"Would you like to have dinner with me on Saturday?"

"Yes." There's no hesitation.

"Emily, I - " He can't find the words but he needs her to understand what he's asking.

She just smiles, spinning a little in her chair, leaning back, and he can see she's amused by his nerves. "I know. Answer's still the same."

* * *

The night of their first date, Hotch can't tie his tie. Eventually he decides to go without, because he can't make his hands work properly and it's a lost cause.

Halfway to her apartment, he panics and rethinks his decision to forego flowers. He's halfway to dialing Rossi's number before he gets a hold of himself.

He's stared down serial killers. He should not be afraid of dinner with Emily.

Even so, when he parks outside her rowhouse, it's not quite straight.

The minute she opens the door, everything evaporates. She's wearing a dress and her hair is in waves, and she's nervously biting her lip because she knows exactly what this is.

They've made it halfway down the steps when she grabs his arm. "Can we - can we just…make this easy?"

"How do we do that?" The nervous feeling rushes back, balling in his stomach and throat.

"Like this." She takes a step up so she's level with him and her hand comes up to his jaw, and then she's kissing him.

It takes him a minute, shocked by the realization of something he's been imagining for longer than he'd care to admit, but his instincts take hold and what she'd probably intended as an innocent peck becomes desperate.

When they pull apart, her eyes are sparkling. "You have lipstick on you," she murmurs, and rubs her thumb over his mouth to wipe it away.

"Are we okay now?" His voice is still not nearly as smooth as he'd like it to be.

"Mmhmm." Her hand finds his and she presses against him as they take the last steps, and he feels a spark just like he had when they'd danced, something electric and terrifying and undeniable, telling him that things have shifted. Again.

He's not afraid anymore.

* * *

They dance again, but it's a different kind. There's no barrier, no turmoil, just them.

They explore one another's scars, silently understanding, knowing what it means to be exposed like this, and both of their senses are in hyperdrive, every touch and taste and sound something to relish.

His hand finds hers as they move together and he pulls her into his arms, holding on for dear life.

They both know how long this was in coming.

It takes all of three minutes before they're both shattered by the realization that neither one of them has to be alone anymore.


End file.
